


The Power of the Red Pants

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, PWP, Quickie, Red Pants, Sherlock Teases
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-05 08:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11010201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: Sherlock has not done the laundry. The consequences accelerate quickly.As a little treat, we're returning to a favourite old familiar: the red pants.





	The Power of the Red Pants

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's Sherlock, though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> We aim to update once a month. All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got quite a few stories, and we invite you to get lost in them. To keep up with our new stories, we hope you'll subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside. If you've got any story ideas, feel free to leave them in the comments!
> 
> Thanks for reading and for being a great community!

John pulled open the top drawer and sighed loudly. Of course there was nothing in there. He imagined the pile waiting to go into the laundry. Lately they had been bombarded with cases Sherlock actually found interesting, so they had been running all over the city, hardly sleeping, hardly eating, and certainly not doing any laundry. Which it was Sherlock's turn to do. 

John reached into the back and pulled out the only pair of pants he had left, the ones he always skipped over because they were just a bit small and bright red. He put them on and tied his dressing gown around himself tightly. He might have to break and just do the laundry himself, but he had just enough pride left to wait Sherlock out one more day.

He went down to the kitchen and started the kettle, looking for something to make for breakfast.

Sherlock came out of his room when he heard John making noise. "Why are you being so loud?" he asked and then sat down at the table. "Where's tea?"

"Don't be rude this early in the morning," John said, not answering anything else.

"I'm not being rude -- you're the one pounding around and not offering tea," Sherlock said. He fiddled with a banana from the bowl on the table. "Do you actually eat this fruit or do you just buy it to create some kind of fruit-based ambiance in the flat?"

"I eat it. And I wish you would as well," he said. He gave Sherlock his mug and sat down, taking an apple from the bowl.

Sherlock picked up a banana and slowly took off the whole peel. He broke it into four pieces and ate one, washing it down with some tea. "Thanks for making this," he said, lifting his cup. "Sorry you've woken up in such a bad mood."

"I haven't . . . yes, well, I think we should use today to catch up on some chores."

"I presumed you were going out," Sherlock said, popping another piece of banana in his mouth. "I figured you must have a date at the Playboy Mansion, dressed like that." He smiled widely.

"You know very well where my clothes are Sherlock!" John rolled his eyes. "It's your turn."

"My turn to what?" Sherlock said, taking a drink of tea.

"Laundry."

"My turn to laundry?" Sherlock asked. "That doesn't make any sense, John. Do you need more sleep? You're shouting, you're half nude and now you're talking gibberish. Why don't you go back to sleep, get up in an hour and try starting the day again?"

"I'm not playing this game with you, Sherlock. You know what I mean and you'd better do it!" John took his tea and his apple into the sitting room.

Sherlock followed him. "John, this is my day off -- we've just finished a big case and that's exhausting, you know? I cannot be made to wait on you hand and foot as well."

"You're doing it," John said simply, opening the paper. 

"Am not," Sherlock said.

"You are, because everything I have is in there and without clothes I won't go on cases or to work and I'll just mess up your desk."

"Everything?" Sherlock asked. "Does that mean you're nude under there?"

"Well, no, but I'd like my normal clothes back," John said.

"If you're not nude, we're not in crisis mode, John," Sherlock said, leaning back a bit of the sofa. "I think you can survive without one of your charming jumpers for 24 hours. I need my rest today but, fine, I will do the laundry tomorrow since you're so helpless without me."

"It's your turn," John repeated stubbornly. He went back to his paper and finished his breakfast.

Sherlock stretched out and sipped his tea. "Did it ever dawn on you that I prefer you nude?" he asked with a wide grin. "Not everyone loves those jumpers, John . . ."

John looked over his paper and stared at Sherlock for a good minute with narrowed eyes. He stood up and went to wash up his mug.

Sherlock glanced over and watched John. "Put the kettle on again, would you?" he called with a smile. He hadn't really intended to devote the morning to teasing John, but he was quite enjoying it actually.

"Do the laundry," John said, finishing the rest of the dishes instead of turning the kettle on. 

"I said I will tomorrow!" Sherlock said. "Why are you such a control freak?"

"Because you won't do it if I don't nag," John said. He took a moment to realise how that sounded, but he just shrugged and went back to finishing up. He did start the kettle, but he didn't mention it.

"How about I promise to do it but only if you stop nagging?"

"You've already promised," John reminded him. 

"See? We're even then," Sherlock said, smiling stupidly.

"I'm not bringing you more tea," John said, leaving the kettle boiling. 

"Childish," Sherlock muttered and then got up and made his way into the kitchen. He deliberately bumped into John. "Sorry," he said. "That dressing gown's soft -- do you always purchase such luxurious clothing?" He poured his tea and dropped in some milk.

"It's soft because I use it for its intended purpose and not to lounge about all day," John said. "Except today, because of circumstances out of my control," he added dramatically. 

"You're a wise man, John, and a doctor -- surely you know that rest is important," Sherlock said. "Since you're obviously unable to care for yourself, I'll take over -- I'm prescribing you one day a week lounging around in your luxurious dressing gown. Unless we have a case obviously." 

John actually laughed at that. "You're not a doctor," he said. 

"Good as," Sherlock said. "In fact, if you'd like, I'm happy to give you a full examination. Perhaps you've got an allergy to your jumpers that is causing these mood swings? Since you're already nude, we might as well -- my charges are reasonable, especially my mate rate, which you obviously qualify for."

"I am not nude!" John said, pulling the belt a little tighter. 

"So what -- you're wearing your swimming trunks or a safari outfit under there or something?" Sherlock laughed. "You don't have to be ashamed of nudity, John. If it makes you feel any better, I'm completely nude under these clothes." He laughed again. He was finding himself quite amusing today.

John rolled his eyes. "Sorry, how are you a genius?"

"Just quit stalling and lose the robe so we can get this exam started," Sherlock said, grabbing a spoon off the drying board. "Should I sterilise my equipment or have you given this a good wash?"

"Stay away from me," John said, getting up and moving quickly to the sitting room again.

Sherlock moved slowly after him. "John Watson," he said. "The doctor's ready to see you now." He grabbed a pillow from the sofa and threw it at him.

John swatted the pillow away, surprised by the playful light in Sherlock's eyes. "No, Sherlock!"

Sherlock suddenly pulled a serious face and moved a little closer. "Seriously, John, is something wrong?" he asked. "Have you got a lump that makes wearing your normal clothes uncomfortable? I've seen horrible things, John -- I can take it. Don't shield me from the truth. You've got me worried now." Then in one swift move he lunged in and grabbed the belt on John's dressing gown, quickly pulling the whole garment from his body.

"I don't -- Sherlock!" John almost covered himself, but then thought that might look even more embarrassing so he just stood there in his red pants. "I hope you're proud of yourself, you fiend."

"You're not nude," Sherlock stated unnecessarily. He stared at John. "You're not nude," he repeated. "But I'm not entirely sure what exactly you are wearing."

"They're pants, obviously. Give it back to me, please."

"Why are they red? Are they for ladies?"

"No. They are obviously men's briefs. They are just red."

"John, are you . . ." Sherlock said, deadly seriously, ". . . are you a superhero?"

John blinked. "Yes. You found me out."

"I knew there was something going on with you -- all those so-called dates were obviously just you going out preventing crimes," he said with a smile. "Well, thanks for letting me know." He carried John's dressing gown into the kitchen with him to get his tea. 

"Let me have it!" John said, hurrying after him.

Sherlock tucked it up under his arm. "No," he said. "Maybe I like you better as a superhero -- don't spoil it for me."

"Sherlock, don't make me fight you in my pants."

"Oh, please -- that'd be quite fun," Sherlock said. He took a sip of tea and then looked over at John. "You're quite fit. I've never seen you nude -- sorry, almost nude. Those jumpers hide too much."

John flushed lightly but shrugged. "Fine. I'll stay like this." He turned and went to the sofa, stretching out.

Sherlock followed him over, squeezing in at the end near John's head. "Are you comfortable?" he asked, adding quickly. "I am . . . this doesn't bother me at all. I'm even happier than I was a few minutes ago."

John shifted and stretched his body again, just because. "I feel great. Perfect. I might do this more often."

"I hope you do," Sherlock said. "Do you mind?" he asked, as he dropped his arm over John, resting his hand on his stomach. "I'm just more comfortable this way."

John shook his head as he looked down at Sherlock's long, pale fingers on his stomach. "It's fine." He scooted up so his head was on Sherlock's thigh, which put Sherlock's hand a bit lower. "I'll be comfortable too."

"That's all I've ever wanted," Sherlock said. He began to slowly move his hand, tickling his fingertips over John's skin.

John shifted very slightly, swallowing hard. Was this really happening or was this a strange game of chicken? He didn't move, letting Sherlock touch him.

"Are you sure red's the right colour? It seems a little . . . angry," Sherlock said randomly. He glanced over and then turned his head to stare out into the room. "They're also a bit tight -- your circulation could be at risk."

John licked his lips. "They're my seduction pants. The bright colour draws the eyes. And the tightness just makes things more . . . obvious."

"Interesting," Sherlock said. He slipped his fingers to the elastic, pulling them a little to test the tightness. "So it's not to aid your flight as you zoom around London, helping children and lost dogs?"

John stiffened as heat bloomed in his cheeks. "It's not, no." He looked up at Sherlock. "They're not so tight in the elastic."

"Elsewhere, though," Sherlock said. He stopped his hand. "Should I check . . . test out if they're too tight?" He had no idea what was really happening, but for some reason, he wasn't yet ready for it to stop.

John blinked a couple times. "If you're curious," he heard himself saying.

Sherlock was curious -- not about the pants really, but about what exactly John Watson was playing at. There was only one way to find out. He slid his hand into John's pants, past his cock, all the way to between his legs. He lightly cupped John's balls and said, "It's quite warm down here," even though the words sounded odd coming out of his mouth.

John bucked into his hand before he could help himself. He'd expected a tug around the thighs or a pinching of the fabric at the hip. But this? He looked up at Sherlock again and held his gaze. He didn't know what to say. 

Sherlock looked down at John. "What precisely are we doing here, John Watson?" he asked, without moving away his hand.

John shrugged. Then he shifted, making a soft sound as Sherlock's hand came out and away from him. He climbed into Sherlock's lap and settled there, biting his lip. "Do you want me to take them off?" he asked quietly. 

"I think you probably should," Sherlock said, shifting slightly as his body began to react to the situation.

"I didn't expect this," John admitted. "But I like your hands on me. I want more."

Sherlock slid his hand up John's back. "I feel your muscles," he said. "I'm learning quite a bit about your body today."

John arched into his touch. Then he started unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt slowly. 

Sherlock glanced down at John's hands and then back up at his face. "Should we kiss, do you think?" he asked.

"I've wanted to since you put your hand on my stomach," he said. He leaned up to push Sherlock's shirt from his shoulders and kissed him at the same time.

Sherlock kissed John back hard. "Really? The first time I thought about this was the week you moved in," he admitted, letting his hands roam all over John's torso.

Instead of replying John kissed him again, his hands now working quickly to get Sherlock's trousers off. 

Sherlock shifted, pushing John back on to the sofa. He stood up, pulled off his trousers and climbed over John, straddling John's thighs and then leaned down and kissed him hard. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock to kiss back. He should wear these pants more often, he thought as they kissed.

Sherlock let one of his hands travel down to between their bodies. He slid it inside John's pants again, this time wrapping his fingers around John's cock, holding it as it stiffened. He began to stroke it as he dropped his head to suck on John's neck.

"Was it the red?" John breathed, reaching to stroke Sherlock at the same time. The feel of his cock had John's breath shuddering lightly. "Or just me?"

"Of course it was you, you idiot," Sherlock said. ". . . though the red doesn't hurt," he added with a smile.

John chuckled softly and kissed his mouth over and over. This must have been in the back of his mind for a while, to come so easily now that the opportunity had arisen. "Don't think this is a reward for neglecting chores," he teased. 

"Please," Sherlock mumbled. He matched John's stroke as he closed his eyes, a bit overwhelmed by the surprise, and the pleasure, of it all. "Do you like this?" 

"Yes," John breathed against Sherlock's skin. "Feels so good . . ." His body kept arching up, into Sherlock's touch but also to press them closer. 

"Good enough that you'll do the laundry tomorrow?" Sherlock asked cheekily, speeding up his stroke slightly.

"Nice try," John panted, leaning up to kiss him harder again. 

"Can I make you come?" Sherlock said, knowing he was so close to the edge himself.

"Yes . . . God yes," John moaned. He was bucking up harder, his hand moving faster on Sherlock and swiping over the tip. 

"Don't stop," Sherlock said, before his voice caught. He leaned down and bit John's neck as his hips jerked and his orgasm hit. He did his best to maintain his stroke on John, opening his eyes to watch John's reactions.

John shook his head, moaning when he watched Sherlock lose himself in pleasure. John followed, coming between them as he continued to buck into Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock closed his eyes as their bodies stilled. His chest still heaved, though, as he tried to catch his breath. "Fuck, John," he exhaled. "This was an unusual turn of events."

John nodded. "This isn't how I expected the morning to go," he admitted. 

"God," Sherlock said, pushing himself up a little. "You will go to any lengths to force me into doing your chores," he said with a grin.

John laughed. "Seems like you'd go to any lengths to get me in my pants," he countered. "My sex pants."

"I had no idea you possessed such an item," Sherlock said, grabbing John's dressing gown and using it to wipe off his hand and stomach. "I was unaware I was living with a pervert."

John laughed louder and took the dressing gown to clean himself up. "Doesn't seem like you mind so much," he said, swiping his finger through Sherlock's mess and showing him before cleaning it all up. 

"As a matter of fact, I don't," Sherlock said. He picked up his mug and swallowed the last gulp of cold tea. "Are you surprised?"

"A little. I thought I was just winning what appeared to be an odd game of chicken," he said, grinning. "Then you put your hand in my pants -- surprised the hell out of me."

"I surprised myself as well," Sherlock confessed. He looked over at John. "Want to hear something else surprising?" 

"Yeah," John nodded, looking over at him.

Sherlock stood up and pulled on his clothes. "I think I'll go to start the laundry now," he said. He paused and looked at John. "Only if you promise that I can see those red pants on a regular basis," he added, giving John a wink. "Deal?"

John grinned wider and nodded. "Deal."


End file.
